A Stranger's Concern

“Excuse me, do you have a moment to spare?” said the blond man. “This doesn’t seem to make sense.” He pointed to the front page of the folded-over newspaper. The smartly dressed woman stopped with an exasperated sigh. Men and their problems.

“Yes,” she snapped, looking at the newspaper thrust under her nose. She brushed her hair back quickly, waiting.

“Can you understand this?” The man quickly revealed a small sheet of white paper that had been hidden under his palm.

The woman gasped. The blood ran out of her face, leaving it chalky-white. She stumbled and slipped over the drenched autumn leaves. Gallantly, the man took her arm and led her to a bench, which was in the quietest corner of the park, directly under the bridge.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” he asked with interest.
“Ohhh…” the woman trailed off. She had experienced quite a fall.

“Well then, you probably have a splitting headache, after that terrible fall.” He spoke in a concerned voice. Like he really cared.

In an instant the woman recalled the last few moments.
Oh God, the note, she thought. She just could not let this man know that she was in such a panic. She began to babble, “Oh my, I’ve got to go…” and attempted to run. The man was prepared. With a lazy smile he watched her struggle with the handcuff that held her prisoner to the bench.

“LET ME GO!” she screamed with hysteria.

“Go on, scream,” he said in a taunting voice. “No one can hear you.” He motioned above him. “Those cars are so noisy.”

“HELP!” the woman screamed. “HELP ME! LET ME GO!”

Casually, the man reached into his jacket. He pulled out a revolver and pointed it at her. “Now you be quiet you little minx, while I think.” The woman, her throat hoarse from screaming, strained to her him above peak-hour traffic.

“Hey, look at this.” The man showed the woman a small, white tablet. Cheerfully, he continued, “It will help with the headache.” He chuckled to himself. The woman began to open her mouth to scream. It was at that instant that the man rammed the tablet down her throat. She gagged, but the tablet did not come up. In the next few minutes, he watched with glee as the woman lost consciousness.

Afterwards, the man could not stop smiling. He picked up the fallen newspaper and saw the piece of white paper flutter to the ground. Mustn’t litter, he thought as he caressed the slightly torn page. He slipped it into his trousers and walked away, whistling. He thought about the woman’s reaction to his handwritten words, “Your fate is now mine.”

A Stranger's Concern


Joined January 2008

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crime fiction

Artwork Comments

  • alancrabmail
  • suspendednote
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